Desensitized
by Gwenevere Knightley
Summary: I'm just trying to block out the pain..
1. desensitized

Settled in one of those soft, squashy chairs in the Gryffindor common room - was a thin, raven haired teen, paying a greater part of his attentions on the fine racing broom before him, carefully administering polish to the glossy wood. He was sat right in the chair, legs tucked up underneath him as he carefully rubbed polish into the broom handle. Outside stars pricked the night sky like fairy lights and the candles in their scones on the walls faded away – leaving the room gloomy and dark.  
Sighing, he glanced over his handiwork, and satisfied, replaced the lid on the wax polish and slipped it back into the case containing all the odds and ends for general broom care. Looking up, he glanced at the fire, then out through the windows, frowning at the change in state between when he'd started and now. _Had it really taken that long?_ He thought, tearing his eyes away from the dark sky and back to the broom; giving the gleaming wood a final once-over before deciding it was glossy enough, he didn't want to risk falling off the thing at a critical moment because it was over-polished. He sighed, placing the lid back on the tin of polish and slipping it back into the leather case with the rest of his broom-care equipment.  
Sitting back in the chair he found himself turning back to the window - the allure of the depthless sky was somewhat calming - and slowly he moved his broom and case from his lap, resting the broom against the arm of the chair and he slowly stood.  
'Oh bloody hell.' he muttered, as he legs stiffened up painfully against the sudden rush of blood, his own fault for sitting like that for so long. Breathing heavily, he waiting for the numbness and pain to subside before crossing other to the window.  
Outside, the ebony sky was perfectly clear, save only for the crescent moon, which grinned at Harry like a Cheshire cat, and reflecting up of the perfect crisp layer of snow on the ground, giving everything a silvery glow. He glanced toward the lake, a shimmering silver mirror between the ranges of low mountains surrounding it. There was something about this particular night that made him feel so small, and so incredibly alone.

He settled down in the alcove of the window, feeling the painfully cold glass press against his bare arms, turning the skin pale and icy. He resented the way that moon seemed to grin, and he stared balefully up at it, the dull ache in his stomach rising up and blocking his throat – taking him over and blocking out anything else. He hunched up in the alcove, glaring furtively around the room to ensure he was indeed alone, before reaching into his pocket. A confusion of thoughts attacked him as he took out the small, wicked knife from his pocket – staring at the blade blankly.

He frowned, turning his free hand over so his palm with upward, and pulled back his sleeve, revealing a criss-cross of angry scars from wrist to elbow – the same marking the arm holding the knife.  
He flicked the blade across his skin, seeing the thin line of red well up and feeling the ache in his chest lessen it's grip on him. Again, watching the dark liquid well up and drip down his arm. Pressing his back against the uneven stonewall – digging the silver blade deeper with every stroke, as he slashed aggressively at his pale skin, staining it red. Pain from this blocking out all other, desensitising him.

He bit back a yelp of pain as the knife dug in a little too deep, scraping against tendon and muscle. Harry pulled the Blade away and stared at the bloody cuts and gashes inside the inside of his arms, the dark liquid dribbled languidly at his elbows and dripped onto the bare stone.  
'Shit.' He muttered, sitting up and cleaning the blood away with his wand. He rolled out of the alcove and stared out of the window, taking one last look at the moon.  
'Don't laugh at me.' He snarled under his breath, turning away and heading for the boy's dormitory.

'Harry, mate you look knackered.' said Ron at breakfast, watching Harry pick at the rapidly cooling food on the plate in front of him. He was hunched over, pale and his bright green eyes seemed dull and lacking in colour.

'Yes Harry, you really don't look well.' said Hermione, her head-Girl badge glinting in the light of the Great Hall – her hand wrapped around Rons'. She looked at Harry, concerned for him.

'I'm fine, I'm just not hungry.' he muttered, sounding non-committal. Hermione rolled her eyes and turned back to her breakfast, Ron sighed. Harry ignored him, they asked him the same questions every morning, and it was really pissing him off, and yet he still couldn't tell them what was going on. Fed-up and sitting around in the Great Hall, he got up and walked out – without a word to either of them.

'God, what is wrong with him?' exclaimed Ron.

'I don't know Ron, I really don't.' she replied, squeezing his hand. 'There's something he's not telling us.'

'Tell me about it, Herm. He's being a really mardy git.'

'Maybe we should talk to him about it.'

'He'd probably storm off or something.' Ron muttered darkly.

Hermione sighed. 'Well, we should do something about it Ron. And I want to go for a walk, come on.' She stood up, pulled Ron up and they walked slowly out of the Great Hall, heading outside into the snow-blanketed grounds. She sighed, leaning on Ron's shoulder as they walked slowly along the path around the castle – sheltered from the vicious breeze blowing off the mountain range by the high walls of the castle.

'Geez, how can he stand that wind?' muttered Ron, pointing out the tiny figure of Harry, standing by the lake in just his shirt and jeans from that morning, no cloak, jumper, nothing. Hermione shivered just seeing him, herself balled up in a thick jumper, cloak, Rons' scarf and gloves.

'It's like he's numb or something.

'Desensitized.' suggested Ron.


	2. Taking over me

'Harry, mate you look knackered.' said Ron at breakfast, watching Harry pick at the rapidly cooling food on the plate in front of him. He was hunched over, pale and his bright green eyes seemed dull and lacking in colour.

'Yes Harry, you really don't look well.' said Hermione, her head-Girl badge glinting in the light of the Great Hall – her hand wrapped around Rons'. She looked at Harry, concerned for him.

'I'm fine, I'm just not hungry.' he muttered, sounding non-committal. Hermione rolled her eyes and turned back to her breakfast, Ron sighed. Harry ignored him, they asked him the same questions every morning, and it was really pissing him off, and yet he still couldn't tell them what was going on. Fed-up and sitting around in the Great Hall, he got up and walked out – without a word to either of them.

'God, what is wrong with him?' exclaimed Ron.

'I don't know Ron, I really don't.' she replied, squeezing his hand. 'There's something he's not telling us.'

'Tell me about it, Herm. He's being a really mardy git.'

'Maybe we should talk to him about it.'

'He'd probably storm off or something.' Ron muttered darkly.

Hermione sighed. 'Well, we should do something about it Ron. And I want to go for a walk, come on.' She stood up, pulled Ron up and they walked slowly out of the Great Hall, heading outside into the snow-blanketed grounds. She sighed, leaning on Ron's shoulder as they walked slowly along the path around the castle – sheltered from the vicious breeze blowing off the mountain range by the high walls of the castle.

'Geez, how can he stand that wind?' muttered Ron, pointing out the tiny figure of Harry, standing by the lake in just his shirt and jeans from that morning, no cloak, jumper, nothing. Hermione shivered just seeing him, herself balled up in a thick jumper, cloak, Rons' scarf and gloves.

'It's like he's numb or something.

'Desensitised.' suggested Ron.

His skin was still cold from standing out in the blizzard, but he didn't seem to notice, not even making any attempt to warm himself or change out of his damp clothes – which was bothering Hermione greatly.

'Look Harry, what is the matter with you? You've been like this for an age now. Can't you tell us what's wrong?' she implored, holding onto the armrest of his chair, he looked away – staring listlessly at the opposite wall, trying to ignore her and hoping she'd go away. He resented the nagging, which made him even more introverted and more pissed off. 'Harry talk to me, look at me. Come on Harry, please. I want to help, Ron wants to help.' she added, touching his arm and looking hurt as he flinched away.

'Hermione, just fuck off will you?' he snapped, finally turning to look at her, fed-up with the constant nagging. She stood up angrily; a mixture of hurt and anger crossing her face and stalked off out of the common room, no doubt searching for Ron. Harry rolled his eyes and hauled himself out of the seat, walking up into the boy's dormitory. He sat on the end of his bed, flicking at the dried blood on his wrist, waiting for Ron to come and yell at him for upsetting "his-precious-Herms", Harry smirked, _that _was part of the reason why he rarely stuck out the pair of them. The parting of the ways, as it were, seemed to loom over the trio – at Harry's hand.

'Harry, mate. I know you're not happy at the moment-'

'Not-happy, Ron, is a severe understatement.' interrupted Harry, hastily pulling his sleeves back over his arms and looking up and his red-haired friend. 'And you can tell Herm I'm sorry for telling her to fuck off, I'm tired.' He added, smirking.

Ron smirked back at Harry. 'Yeah all right, she didn't think you meant it anyway. But, are you coming to Quidditch practise?'

_Shit, I knew I'd forgotten something. _He thought, standing up. 'Yeah, I am. Sorry.' He replied, reaching for his winter cloak, scarf, gloves and precious Firebolt.

Ron sighed. 'Oh, I need to tell you, Ravenclaw have a new seeker.'

'Again? What was wrong with bloody Holloway?'

'She's refusing to play now, I don't know why.'

'Right then.' Replied Harry sceptically. 'Who is it this time?'

'Uhm.. I don't actually know – we'll have to wait for the match to find out – all I know is, she's good.'

Harry made a contemptuous snort as they descended the stairs into the Entrance Hall, ignoring the little sharp knife-point of a reminder, triggering a long lost memory. 5th year, Valentine's Ball. What a fucking disaster that was. He rejected the memory, blocked out the twinge of loss, and smirked. _As long as she's not pretty, I'll be fine._

They passed out of the Front doors, gasping as the extreme icy breeze bit into them, howling around their ears as they walked resolutely to the Quidditch pitch.

'Sure this was wise Ron?' shouted Harry over the wind.  
'Probably not but the pitch is sheltered from this.' He replied, words lost in the gale. Harry shrugged, merciful for the brief respite of the Changing rooms.

Ron immediately went into Captain mode, moving over to a board covered in multi-coloured lines and squiggles as Harry sat with the chasers, Ginny Weasley and two other 6th year girls he didn't know. Ron started explaining their new strategy, well his, to the team – and going into painfully dull detail about it. Harry yawned, leaning back against the cold wall, and absentmindedly flicking at the scars high on his wrist – a habit he'd recently gotten into.

'Harry, what the hell are you doing?' hissed Ginny, slapping his arm and breaking him out of the twisted daydream, she was staring at him. Harry pulled his sleeves down, shot her an icy glare – and started half-listening to Ron.

'-So, I think that's everything now.' said Ron, obviously finishing up. 'So, I'll see you all at half eight on Saturday morning for the match.'


	3. and just stay here in this moment

The clock hanging over the fireplace, ticking away the seconds, minutes and hours of Harry's life as he sat there, in the alcove – drowning in depression and despair, watching as he slashed away at the already scarred skin flesh of his arms. But it didn't really help, nothing seemed to. It was just relief, right? Escapism.

He sighed, his hand creeping down his side to the little flick-knife in his pocket, drawing it out, and staring at the glittering silver-skinned blade with a slight smirk.

He flipped his arm over, staring at the intricate tangle of scars on his skinny arm, and drew the blade across – feeling the relief flood through him at the cold edge bit into his arm. Blood flowers blooming up and growing, slipping down his arm, pooling at his elbow – soaking into the cloth of his shirt.

He felt himself drag the knife across his arm again, separating skin, and it hurt. Fuck, it hurt. He gasped in pain, realising too late that he'd dug in too deep. He gulped, dropping the knife, hearing the clatter of blood stained metal on stone. He fumbled for his wand, deftly closing the wound with a flick of his wand.  
He sighed, leaning against the cold wall and trying to calm himself, and mentally abusing himself for being so fucking stupid. _I don't want to Fucking die, I just want relief._

He climbed out of the alcove and moved over to the fire, however low it burned, he still could gleam heat from the dying embers. Harry stared in the hearth, the bright red of the blackened wood hurt his eyes, but he didn't care. A deep blood red glowed against the brilliant green of his eyes, reddening his alabaster skin, highlighting his jet-black hair, just proving that in your darkest hour, beauty can come of it.

He fell asleep there, back propped up against the arm-chair, soothed into a dreamless sleep by the fire. A slight saving grace to his mutilated soul.  
'You know Harry, beds' do tend to be a little more comfortable than the common room floor.' Said someone, shaking him – and obviously highly amused on finding him there. It was Hermione.  
'Ugh.. morning Herm.' He managed, stiff and sore from sleeping in a stupid position.

'Morning, sleep well?' she teased.

He groaned, smirking. 'Fuck no.'

'Language Harry.' She warned, Harry scowled at her – which made her laugh. 'You can't scare me.'

'Damn.' He replied, grimacing as his stomach growled in protest of the lack of food for the last few days. 'Mm, I should really eat.'

Hermione gave him a sharp look. 'Still not ready to tell us what's wrong then?'

'No, not really.' He replied shortly, getting up stiffly.

She nodded, frowning. 'Well, are you coming?'

'Yes, Yeah I am Hermione.' He replied, feigning as much cheerfulness as possible.

She put her arm around him, leading him carefully out of the common-room and slowly down to the Great Hall, Harry wary the whole time of her seeing or feeling the scars on his arms.

He walked silently beside her, Hermione's endless rambling washing over him in a confused jumble of words, solely because he wasn't listening. He yawned, wincing as pain shot through his shoulder blades, punishment for the way he'd slept.

The Great Hall was practically empty, save for a few Ravenclaw girls arguing over Quidditch; one of them, Harry noticed – was in Ravenclaw practice robes_. The new seeker? _

'I don't fucking give a shit Amy.' She snapped, snatching the newspaper away from a girl with frizzy blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Amy stared at her friend, shocked at the tone and language.

'You're such a snob you know.' Amy retorted, watching her friend read the paper. 'And you're bloody spoilt.'

'Yes, I know. I'm spoilt. So what if my mother sent me a new broom because I'm seeker!' she hissed.

'So! The point is- Luna, can I have your copy of the Daily Prophet? Miss mardy-boots here won't share.

Luna smiled at Amy, handing it over. The girl in the middle, the one in the robes, scowled darkly at her two friends, then smiled – one that seemed to brighten up an otherwise sad face.

Harry stared at her for a second, looking away sharply as she turned his way. _I'm fucked. _He thought, sitting down heavily at the Gryffindor table. Hearing her arguing brightly with her friends over breakfast, he stared at the jug of Orange juice – sulking even more until someone waved a hand in his face.

'Now what's wrong with you?' muttered Hermione, buttering a slice of toast for Harry. He took it from her, eating it slowly. 'Is she the new seeker Ron was talking about?' she added, watching the girl on the Ravenclaw table with faint interest.

'Must be.' He replied, glancing briefly at her; she was extremely fair, with dark green; almost brown eyes and very dark hair. Her fringe fell into her eyes and the rest was pulled back messily. She brushed the hair from her eyes and smirked, glancing at her friend. She wasn't perfectly beautiful, but she was pretty. And Harry knew it, why he hadn't seen her before in his life he didn't know, but he didn't care.

'Harry? Do you want another slice of toast?' asked Hermione, concerned.

'No, I'm alright.' He replied, sneezing- and taking the tissue Hermione handed him.

'You shouldn't have gone out with no cloak yesterday.' She chided.

'Yes I know.' He replied sharply, shaking the stuffiness out of his head. 'Herm, I'm going to go for a walk and try to clear my head okay?'

'Yes okay then, don't forget you have Quidditch Practise.'

'I won't.' he replied, standing up and climbing free of the bench, smiling briefly at Hermione and walking along the length of the table, taking one last glance at the Ravenclaw seeker; feeling a jolt in his stomach as she caught his eye.


End file.
